


shiver

by bpddennis



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Borderline Personality Disorder, Episode: s12e08 The Gang Tends Bar, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Panic Attacks, References to Depression, Suicide Attempt, uhhhh this is probably garbage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 16:03:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12656826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bpddennis/pseuds/bpddennis
Summary: dennis cracks.





	shiver

**Author's Note:**

> pls read the tag warnings!!!!

[valentine's day. 10:15pm]

his own, disgusting words ring in his head, over and over and over again, like those bells in church that he finds so god damn annoying that ring every hour or whatever. 

"and i have feelings. of course i have feelings!" 

he squeezes his eyes shut. his hands fly to his curls and he's pulling on them, just trying to feel something other than whatever his chest is trying to do to him.

 "i have big feelings!" 

he's not in a safe space. everything is welling up in his chest like something he's never felt before. no, it's not a panic attack, or at least he doesn't think so. he thinks he's dying. he feels the world crumbling around him, the apartment burning down, and he's just trapped on the inside, banging on the door to try and get out. there's no exit. 

"and it hurts." 

and it fucking hurts. how could he have been so god damn vulnerable? how could he have let his guard down like that, in front of the entire gang? he paces the bathroom, he grips at his curls relentlessly, he feels his chest heaving. how could he, someone so put together, so charming and close to perfect, allow himself to fall apart like that? and over something so silly, a dumb, romanticized "holiday". 

just reliving it makes him want to throw himself out the apartment window. he's pacing like a fucking madman, scratching at his forearms, the back of his neck. he's nearly talking to himself, mumbling self-destructive insecurities to himself like a memorized poem. he feels like a grenade, and he's the only one in the world who doesn't know when it's supposed to go off. 

he glances at his bpd pills on the counter top, and mentally slaps himself for not taking them. maybe if he had been taking them on a regular basis, this chaotic meltdown could have been avoided. he feels his breath slow as he stares the capsule down. the stinging in his eyes stop for a moment. he ponders for a moment, feeling his body relax, his shoulders slump back down. he perks up and goes to the kitchen. 

dennis is a grenade. dennis wants to be in control of when he'll go off. so dennis absentmindedly caresses a couple of the excessively large knives mac has for when he doesn't cook. he finds one, one not so intimidating. dennis likes how calm everything feels. he gives the knife one last glance around and retreats to the bathroom. 

dennis is a grenade. 

dennis pops the lid of the pill bottle off and loses himself in the medication that's supposed to save him. dennis draws pictures of what he thinks love could be on his left wrist with the knife. dennis is a grenade. so dennis goes off. 

[valentine's day. 11:02pm] 

"911, what is your emergency?" 

"i need a fucking ambulance right now, i think my roommate's dead." 

there's so much blood. mac's never seen this much blood. mac is covered in blood, and wishes it was his own, wishes he could be dying right now, too. mac gives the incompetent lady on the other line the apartment address. mac always thought dennis was hideously pale, but his skin tone before is nothing compared to like what it is now. mac cradles dennis' head in his lap, and prays like he's never prayed before. dennis thinks he hears amen. everything is white. 

[february 15th. 9:43am] 

when dennis wakes up, he really does think he's in heaven, or hell, hell that's just really white and quiet. he feels pain in every limb on his body. his head is pounding severely, and his chest feels like someone placed a thousand bricks on it while he was passed out. it takes a moment for his eyesight to balance out, for everything to focus. he lazily lets his head loll to the side, upset to find a horrid line of stitches trailing the pale skin of his left arm. 

the thing dennis hates the most is how empty everything feels, mentally and physically. he wonders who could have possible found him. he wants to move, to sit up, to scream. but everything's stiff, and his body's feels like it was hit by a plane at full speed. a nurse appears in the doorway and cautiously approaches him. he wants to spit in her face. 

"hello, mr. reynolds. glad to see you awake finally." she drags a chair over, which looks like it was made in the 50's, and sits down next to his bed. "do you remember any of last night?" 

dennis blinks. well, vaguely he does. he remembers yelling at the gang. he remembers mac never showing up again. he remembers drowning in his sorrows all night back at the apartment. and then chaos, and humility, and some demon inside him breaking loose. oh yeah, nurse with way too much bronzer on, he remembers. so he nods to her. 

"okay, well thankfully, your stomach was pumped of all the medication you nearly overdosed on. as you can probably see, the cut on your left arm was extremely deep, so we've stitched that up. give it a few weeks and it should be all clear. thankfully the excessive use of your pills didn't leave any brain, or kidney damage. you're extremely lucky." she finishes with a sad smile. she's actually gorgeous, now that dennis has heard her voice, and he wants to ask if his heart was ripped out at all, or if it's just going to feel that way forever. he decides against it. 

"okay. now what?" he tries to aggressively snap back, but it comes out more of a whisper. 

"well, we've gotten ahold of your emergency contact, which seems to a be a miss. deandra reynolds, yes?" dennis nods. 

"okay, well she's in the waiting room as of now, i think with some others. would you like to see them?" 

he hesitates. "just send the girl, just dee." the nurse purses her lips and nods. 

"okay, mr. reynolds, i'll send her in." 

he waits for what feels like days. he just can't find himself to care about any of this. if he had it his way, he wouldn't be here right now. he'd be a new autopsy project, he'd be a memory, something for four people to maybe grieve over for a day. 

when dee appears in the doorway, dennis feels his chest tighten. she looks miserable. she looks scared, like when they'd sneak downstairs and watch horror movies without their parent's permission. except this is worse. 

"fucking christ, dennis." she chokes and immediately breezes over to the hospital bed. she lets a few tears creep down her cheeks and then angrily wipes them away. 

"which one is the suicide arm? the left, yeah?" before dennis can even nod, she's brings down a firm slap against his arm. 

he groans in response. the first words out of his mouth; "oh, what the fuck, dee?" he squeezes his eyes shut while pain shoots up and down his arm, as he cradles it. 

"you're a fucking asshole, that's why, dennis! you had us all out of ours minds, giving that speech and then leaving abruptly, and mac having to find you nearly dead on the bathroom floor! are you out of your god damned mind?" she shrieks at him. dennis wants to melt into the hospital bed. he wishes he could have just succeeded in this depressing feat. 

he sighs at her, looks up barely, and sure enough she looks just as miserable. he wants to yell back, call her a bird, hell, tell her he's going to attempt again if she keeps squeaking like that. but he doesn't. he just lets her show love in the only way she knows how. 

"i mean, what the hell, dennis?" she chokes out, this time softer, weaker. she sits on the chair the nurse left by the bed. she reaches for dennis' hand and he snatches it away. everything is too heavy and he really doesn't want company, especially anything physical. dee sadly brings her hand back to her lap, and sighs. 

"well, mac's here. everyone's here, but mac's the one that found you all bloody. so i'm gonna get him." 

"no!" dennis interjects. "no, just...god damn it! just get me out of this place. please, dee." he nearly begs her, looking like a toddler, looking like some creature that is no longer dennis reynolds. just a sad excuse for whatever he used to be. 

"you can go home in a couple days, but you're going home with mac, so figure it out. i'm gonna grab the nurse." dee sniffs, and stands up. she looks back at dennis before exiting the room. dennis feels her take anything that's left of him with her. dennis thinks something left his body last night and isn't coming back. 

after two miserable, dreary days in the suffocating hospital, dennis is finally released. dee comes back both days to check on him, keep him sane, talk him down. she's fighting through repressed sobs every time, dennis knows her better than she thinks. dennis thinks she keeps it together for his sake, more than her own. mac ends up driving them home eventually. he doesn't say anything the entire process of checking dennis out of the hospital. he doesn't say anything helping dennis buckle his seatbelt. doesn't talk while driving home, even at the four excessively long stoplights. he just looks ahead, and dennis thinks mac maybe died last night. mac helps dennis out of the car, leads him into the apartment. when the door is shut, dennis feels like he's in a place that isn't home. the first thing dennis has to do is pee, so he starts towards the bathroom door, which is closed. 

"no, den, wait." mac strides up to dennis and grabs his wrist. "there's- i didn't-" he pauses, and dennis sees emotion flash on mac's face for the first time they've been together today. "there's still blood everywhere. just- god, i don't know. i-" 

"it's-it's fine." dennis strains. "i'll just...i don't know, use a god damn beer bottle. there's bound to be one of those lying around, yeah?" he tries to smile. it hurts. it comes off more as a grimace. mac nods and lets go of dennis' wrist. 

"okay." when dennis returns, the two just sit on the couch for a few minutes, awkward silence eating them both alive. mac is the first to speak. 

"you're going to therapy." 

"what?!" dennis nearly screeches. 

"you can either go to therapy, or go be an inpatient at the hospital." mac says quietly, but sternly, staring at the carpeted floor. 

"i'm not going to fucking therapy." dennis states, outraged, nearly shooting off the couch. "i'm fine!" 

he crosses his arms in defense, glaring down at mac.

mac stands up and looks at dennis, exasperated. "you tried to kill yourself last night, dennis! i watched you nearly bleed out in my own fucking arms!" 

his arms nearly fly in the air, and mac quickly realizes this is not about to be a calm discussion. dennis is always on, always ready for another battlefield, another mass destruction.

dennis scoffs, placing his hands on his hips. "well, don't get dramatic about it." he bitterly snaps. mac sighs and places his face in his hands for a moment, wanting to scream until his lungs give out. he breathes heavily for a moment before looking back at dennis, eyes pleading for a split second before he goes back to defense mode. 

"i'm not being fucking dramatic. i'm telling you what happened. i had to call 911, and i had to watch you almost die, and i had to watch dee and charlie have breakdowns in the waiting room all night with your blood on my clothes! i did all of that! and you're going to tell me not to be dramatic?" mac heaves back at him. 

"oh, poor mac. poor mac got blood on the same pants he wears every god damn day! someone give him a medal! it's not like i had my stomach pumped or i had to get disgusting stitches and lay in a disgusting bed unworthy of me for two goddamn days. your life must be so fucking hard. you're being pathetic." 

dennis' words are like icy venom, seeping into mac's skin. "i'm not doing this. you're going to therapy, i don't care if i have to drag you there every fucking week." mac nearly grits through his teeth. he shakes his head and sits back down on the couch. 

[february 21. 11:33am] 

"dennis, come on, i wanna leave in 5 minutes!" 

dennis knows there's no use fighting any of this. he'd rather this hell than being a stupid inpatient. he groans as he drags himself out of bed. 

mac knocks aggressively again. "i'm fucking coming!" dennis yells back. 

it seems like all he and mac do is fight. they've yet to really talk about any of this. it's just mac placing garbage food in front him, making him eat it. constantly reminding him about his appointment. constantly hiding pills and other dangerous potential self-harming tools. they bicker all day until dennis locks himself in his room, usually. [which mac has lovingly searched and confiscated all possible "weapons"]. 

dennis throws on a t-shirt, one he hasn't worn since he was maybe 25. he grabs the first pair of jeans he sees along with his beat up adidas shoes and pretends like his hair is even kind of acceptable. nothing fucking matters. dennis thinks maybe he did die on valentine's day, and everyone's just playing with his corpse for fun, for something to do. 

dennis goes to therapy. it's not awful. his therapist's name is courtney and she's nice enough.

 [march 12. 1:02pm] 

mac and dennis don't talk normally for a few weeks. everything's an argument, a duel, a new problem. they're having arguments over things no two people should ever argue about. but after dennis' fourth therapy session, he feels close to feeling something. mac picks him up at 1:00pm, like usual. mac prepares himself for an argument over the music mac is playing. but dennis hops in the car, buckles himself, which is usually another argument itself, and looks over to mac. "hey, man." dennis says, still quiet enough. 

"h-hey." mac replies, quizzically. "how was your session?" 

dennis shrugs. "it was fine. hey, i was thinking, we should go out for dinner tonight. we missed that monthly dinner, y'know, last month." dennis is flipping through some of mac's cds now, humming along to what mac has currently playing. mac is left dumbfounded for a second. 

"you wanna what?" mac raises an eyebrow. 

"monthly dinner, baby!" dennis cheers, the corner of his mouth curling up, maybe like it used to. "what do ya say?" dennis pops a cd of his choice into the cd player of the range rover. 

"uh...i mean, yeah? are you okay, den?" mac shifts in his seat, really examining dennis, who is perched in the passenger seat, fixing the collar of his flannel. 

"perfect. let's go." dennis states with familiar confidence, throwing his feet up on the dash. also, something they've previously argued about. but mac lets it be. mac also waits for the bucket to drop. 

[march 12. 7:06pm] 

the dinner is actually fine. dennis looks great, as usual. they don't bicker. dennis laughs at mac's bad jokes, which is actually kind of rare. dennis doesn't drink anymore, mac mentally notes, as he watches dennis pour himself more water. 

everything is as if dennis never went off that night. mac gets steak, which is fine. what's not fine is the intriguing sharp knife that accompanies the entree. what's not fine is dennis staring longingly at the knife, feeling his chest heave rapidly. he stares at it like it's his lifeline. he's been so used to mac hiding nearly everything in their apartment, he feels like a fool for thinking that knives don't exist anymore. he's had this little bubble world provided by mac, and now reality has seeped back into his veins. everything's hot, and dennis feels the world closing in on him, he can only see mac in front of him, who is anxiously gripping at his hands across the table; which dennis can't feel. mac's saying something over and over and dennis can't hear any of it, it's like he's under water. he watches mac throw a bundle of cash on the table, and mac pulls him out of his chair. 

dennis lets mac guide him out of restaurant, paying no attention to the dozens of people watching his episode. his cheeks feel hot and wet, and if he's crying right now, he might just have to go kill himself, for real this time. mac manages to get him into the car, and he's immediately comforting dennis the way he used to when they were barely out of high school, when dennis had less control over these moments. mac's got one hand on dennis' waist, and the other cupping his face. he's murmuring silence to dennis, it's all coming out as silence. 

eventually, what could be a year later, dennis' heart slows. he lets his eyes flutter open, lets mac's voice resonate with him. 

"you're alright, den. you're safe, babe." mac is continuously running his hand along the back of dennis' head, caressing his curls gently. his other hand is now trailing up and down dennis' spine and he appreciates the sensations all coming together at once, finally. dennis' cheeks don't feel wet anymore, and assumes mac must have wiped them away at some point in the car. dennis breathes in sharply, and then releases everything. he's gripping onto mac's only nice dress shirt, and starts to ease his fist's grasp. 

"i'm - i didn't mean to -" 

"den, it's okay. i'm sorry, i should have - god, that was my bad. dennis, are you okay?" 

mac's looking at dennis like he's the entire solar system. and dennis wants to scream at him, because god, can't he just do better? can't he just leave dennis alone and abandon him now, like dennis knows he will? can't mac just crash the car and end everything? right now, mac is looking at dennis like he's nailed on a wall, a painting in a museum, something so rare and beautiful. but dennis is a tragedy, dennis is poison, dennis is crashing waves in the middle of a thunderstorm. but mac is cupping dennis' face now. mac keeps asking if dennis is okay, and dennis makes sure to nod. 

and mac is rubbing his thumb along dennis' cheekbone. mac is giving his all to dennis, and dennis wants to tell him to run. 

[march 16. 2:41am] 

ever since the awful monthly dinner fiasco, dennis becomes a clingy mess, whether he'd admit it or not. dennis doesn't care to sleep alone, and mac doesn't question it, so they sleep together in mac's room. dennis is scared at first, forcing himself to stay strictly to his side, nearly ready to slide off the bed. dennis will wake up too close to mac in the middle of the night, and then force himself to sleep on the floor. mac always notices this, and mac brings him back in the bed. dennis can't pretend he doesn't adore it, every single time. 

dennis left arm has transformed into a unwanted reminder of the past month. a dreadful scar that greets him every morning. it’s rare dennis pushes up the sleeves of his buttoned shirts, or long sleeves anymore. the gang leaves it alone. 

but dennis appreciates the way mac doesn’t walk on egg shells around him like everyone else. mac still talks to him like he’s real, like it’s normal. mac doesn’t get quiet whenever dennis enters the room. mac treats everything like it’s fine, like the bathroom wasn’t a bloody nightmare a month ago.

mac thinks it’s better until a particular night, when he shoots up in bed, slicked in sweat from a horrid dream consisting of dennis’ cold, bloody, lifeless body. 

“fuck!” mac chokes out, entire body shaking from the nightmare. he immediately looks over to dennis, who is currently passed out on his side, facing mac. he looks pale, looks young, and mac's head is still spinning. 

“den, wake up. wake up!” mac hisses. yeah, it’s only a dream, but might as well make sure. mac forgets how heavy of a sleeper dennis can be and feels the anxiety creep into his chest. he shakes dennis lightly, feeling tears prick near the corners of his eyes. the dream keeps playing over and over and mac notes that dennis is just as cold now as he felt in the dream. 

dennis’ eyes squeeze together tightly and he looks up from his pillow, squinting, adjusting to being awake at such an unusual hour. 

“god damn it, what do you - shit, are you crying?” dennis’ voice is raspy and low and plagued with sleep but it’s real, and dennis is real. dennis props himself up on one hand and edges closer to mac.

“dude, what happened?” dennis rubs gently at mac’s shoulder with one hand, his thumb moving in circles firmly against mac's t-shirt sleeve.

“i had a stupid fucking dream and you were dead, i think and i kept fucking shouting and 911 wouldn’t answer and then i was shaking you just now and you wouldn’t wake up -” mac chokes out, rambling hysterically, and dennis places his hands softly on mac’s cheeks, rubbing his thumbs reassuringly against the heights of his cheekbones.

“hey, hey, hey,” dennis soothes. it is so familiar yet strange of dennis to treat mac like they're 16 again, when mac used to spend the night and dennis was more touchy than he is now. mac is shaking slightly and shifts closer to dennis subtly, their faces inches apart. 

“i’m not dead. okay? i’m not going to die. i’m here.” 

dennis whispers into darkness.

mac manages to nod at dennis’ confirmations. “god, it was just so real.” 

mac places his head in his hands for a moment, and then drags his fingers through his hair, breathing still ragged.

dennis hums in response. his hands move back to cup mac’s neck lightly, afraid to put any sort of pressure on him. “i’m right here.” 

he rubs a thumb gently along mac's pulse point.

the two look at each other a moment, but mac doesn’t stop shaking, he doesn’t feel his heart relaxing. dennis leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of mac’s mouth. he lays down on his back and pats his chest. 

“c’mere, we’re sleeping.” dennis demands gently, closing his eyes. mac complies, leaning down and resting his head carefully on dennis’ chest. he curls himself around dennis’ torso and pretends like he doesn’t crave more of everything dennis has to offer. 

 

[april 14. 1:31] 

dennis is sobbing in bed, mac is utterly and completely at a loss for what to do as he holds dennis against him. dennis is choking out things like “why didn’t it work” over and over again into mac’s shoulder. he’s gripping so tightly at mac’s t-shirt, and mac is rubbing comforting circles on dennis’ back.

“it didn’t work because i need you, den.” mac mumbles into dennis’ neck. dennis’ sobs are quieter now. he’s still holding onto mac like he’s a lifeline. 

“it - it should have worked. it was - it was smart.” dennis cries.

“i’m glad it didn’t work. i’m glad you’re still here.” mac says it so softly, almost a whisper. he clutches dennis with the same desperation, arms linked around his waist. 

dennis cries for a bit before his head stills in the crook of mac’s neck. his breathing is even and calm. mac lies the both of them down, refusing to let go of dennis as he presses their bodies together. 

it’s officially been two months since everything almost ended.

mac wonders if broken things heal.

dennis wakes up the next morning attached to mac and kisses him awake. mac asks dennis if that could become a regular thing. dennis nods and then decides to sleep late into the afternoon, enjoying the feeling of mac right there. he falls in and out of sleep with the faint feeling of mac’s lips on his cheeks every now and then. 

 

[june 25. 2:39pm]

dennis comes in one day to work with his flannel sleeves rolled up messily, not really even paying attention to his old habits returning; shoving them up his arms while getting ready. mac notes of this and smiles to himself. and it’s okay if dennis gets a glance of the fading scar on his forearm and grimaces later on in the day, and yanks the sleeves back down. because it’s a process, and it’s gonna be fine. 

and it’s okay if dennis doesn’t let mac touch him some nights, nights where dennis feels pathetic and disgusting. dennis will isolate himself until he’s ready to interact. he’ll crawl into mac’s bed and mac will kiss away any doubt left on dennis’ face. 

it’s okay if dennis skips therapy sometimes, insisting that he’s better, only to be in a screaming match with mac thirty seconds later. 

they’ll detach from each other, cool off, and dennis will promise to go to therapy next week. 

it’s okay if dennis still has fits of outrage, ones that seem unstoppable. ones where mac is chasing dennis around the entire apartment to keep him from doing anything impulsive. 

the sun always comes out after the hurricane. 

 

[valentines day, 5:33pm: one year after the almost]

“monthly dinner, baby, c’mon!” mac raps on dennis’ bedroom door. 

dennis opens the door almost instantaneously, clad in a light blue button up. he’s got his sleeves pushed up, and his curls are loose and longer than mac’s ever seen them. he looks happy. 

 

“you look great.” mac smiles. 

“i know.” dennis grins, gripping mac’s tie, and pulling him in for a quick kiss. 

"i still think valentines’ day is a bullshit holiday, you know.” dennis adds. 

mac rests his hands on dennis’ hips. “happy six months, den.”

“yeah.” 

**Author's Note:**

> i always wonder what would have went down if mac never saved the day with the rpg? this is obviously a stretch, but i'm really curious to know what dennis would have done after his big feelings speech u know
> 
> anyways, hopefully all tw's were covered!!!! thank u for reading xoxo


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